


At Your Bedside

by maigonokaze



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Black Hill - Freeform, Clint Barton/coffee, Cuteness and fluff, F/F, Hospitals, Originally Posted on Tumblr, TLC, terms of endearment, waking up in a hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 18:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4757234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maigonokaze/pseuds/maigonokaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Natasha is injured on a mission, Maria sits at her bedside while she wakes up after surgery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Your Bedside

Maria could swear that the coffee pot in the waiting area had been refilled at least every half hour, yet every cup she poured carried the same stale flavor of hospital disinfectant and anxiety. Coulson had brought his own pot and coffee, but he’d disappeared into Barton’s room and Maria didn’t feel like intruding on them just for the sake of a cup. Besides, she hadn’t seen any mugs. More likely than not, Barton was drinking straight from the pot. _Idiot_ , she thought idly, the sentiment without rancor.

“Commander Hill.”

Maria turned as her name came, not through the doors that led to the operating room, but from the direction of the Hub’s recovery wing. Her expression remained placid, but the knot in her stomach began to uncurl. The doctor’s words scarcely penetrated her brain – she would read them in better detail later when she received the full report – as she waited for the only words that mattered to her: “You can go see her now.” The moment those words left the doctor’s mouth, Maria brushed past and hurried down the hallway to Natasha’s room.

This was hardly the first time Maria had waited at Natasha’s bedside after surgery and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Waiting for the plane to arrive, waiting for surgery to finish – those were the worst parts. By the time they reached this stage, the sight of Natasha connected to all of those wires and monitors was cause for relief, not fear or distress. The lights on the heart monitor rose and fell and the IV fluids dripped steadily into Natasha’s arm. The curdled mess of nerves that had churned in Maria’s chest since she got the call ten hours ago finally settled.

She reached for the nearby chair and pulled it close to Natasha’s bedside. “Hey _lyubov moya_ ,” she said softly. The Russian words flowed naturally off her tongue after all these years. Even though they spoke most of the time in English, Maria and Natasha both loved hearing terms of endearment in their first languages. It brought a sense of home, of safety and belonging. 

The cheap metal chair rocked beneath Maria as she sat, the front left leg a quarter an inch shorter than the rest. Maria glanced at the room number on the wall above Natasha’s head. “So we got the same room as that time you came back from Pyongyang. Same blasted chair and everything.” She reached for Natasha’s hand and held it in both of hers, rubbing her thumbs in gentle circles over skin calloused by long, hard use. There was no change to Natasha’s face, no flutter of her eyelids, just a slight falter to the steady rhythm of her breathing to let Maria know she was awake.

“I swear the next time you drag me to the hospital in the middle of the night, I’m bringing a saw so I can fix the damn thing.” Maria kept talking; Natasha always found waking up from anesthesia to be disorienting and the steady stream of words in Maria’s familiar voice gave her something to focus on. “It’s not strange to bring an electric saw to the emergency ward, right? I’m sure perfectly normal, well-adjusted SHIELD agents bring power tools to their loved ones’ bedsides all the time.”

Natasha snorted at that, then froze as the movement sent a spasm of pain through her body. Maria recognized the stillness for what it was and reached for the call button. “Don’t make me laugh, _querida_ ,” Natasha rasped. Maria kept one hand on Natasha’s as she reached with the other for the hospital thermos and straw on the cart next to Natasha’s head. The water was sure to taste like lukewarm liquid plastic, but it would ease the dryness that the anesthesia left in Natasha’s throat.

“Standing order or temporary moratorium?” Maria asked. “Because I don’t know if I can make it the next couple weeks taking care of your ass if I’m not allowed to make you laugh. It takes so much effort for me _not_ to be funny, you know.”

Natasha chuckled again, spluttering around the straw in her mouth. “Don’t,” she said again, her voice stronger now.

Maria sighed. “For you, _moya solnishka_ , I will try not to be funny. No guarantees, though.”

Natasha took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she focused. She tensed each muscle group, slowly working her way down her body to feel where there was pain and how much. Maria watched. There was little external movement as Natasha conducted her self-assessment, but Maria had observed this process before. It didn’t matter if Natasha was in perfect health or had just woken up from a near-death experience, she always needed to know exactly what condition her body was in. Maria had no doubt that if an enemy were to burst through the door, Natasha would know immediately how to most effectively neutralize the threat while still operating within the limitations placed upon her by her injuries. “It was a good op, you know,” Natasha remarked from behind closed eyes. “Wasn’t your fault it went all FUBAR.”

“I know it was a good op,” Maria replied. “Wouldn’t have sent you out there if it wasn’t.”

Natasha had to smile at that as she looked up to meet Maria’s gaze. “I know you wouldn’t. Benefit of marrying the boss, I suppose.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Marvel or profit in any way from writing Marvel fanfic. I do love getting feedback though!


End file.
